Glass Cage: Mind Games
by Timesprite
Summary: Dom deals with the repercussions of her ordeal as she and Cable track her kidnapper.


Disclaimer: Domino and Cable don't belong to me. Bronson, Sela, and assorted others do. I'm not making any money, don't sue. Feedback, however, is much appreciated. Archive with permission. 

Notes: Much thanks to Lyss for the beta, and various others who I consulted during the arduous task of getting this chapter done. This is the fourth story in the Glass Cage series. 

Glass Cage: Mind Games   
by Timesprite 

Prologue 

_A challenge. It's something I haven't had in a long time. I have to admit, I've locked myself into a rather mundane existence. Even the most beautiful of butterflies can become tiresome to look upon after a time, and my Menagerie doesn't hold the same appeal anymore. Not after her. It's interesting, the mixture of rage and compulsion her memory gives me._

_This is all quite new to me, you see. My girls, the ones I have gathered so carefully, sculpted to my will, and broken into eloquent pets with tattered spirits trailing behind them, have never been anything more than that to me. Pets, objects to be possessed, to look upon. Shiny baubles to be collected and displayed as I wish. Certainly nothing to become emotionally attached to. But this one, the one who got away, she awakened something else in me._   
_ True, her beauty was exquisite in a rare, exotic sort of way, and that is what lead me to her initially, but there was something else there that caught me the first time I looked into those violet eyes. A mix of fierce independence and vulnerability that captivated me. Oh, I have seen rebellion in the eyes of my captives before, but it is a fragile desperation that fuels that rage and it fades all to quickly into dull obedience. This was something new, something positively galvanic. It turned my routine world upside down with a myriad of possibilities. I had to have her, and her domination would be my delight._

_Unfortunately, I underestimated the danger my caged tiger posed. I had wanted to hold her in a cage of glass, in a sparkling grandeur that befitted her, but she forced me to instead use crude concrete and cold steal. And in the darkness, the tiger seethed and plotted revenge._   
_ She almost escaped, though she failed to take into account that I am *not* a foolish man. I took delight in the sliver of defeat that entered her eyes when she took in the endless sea of sand that surrounded her, knowing that I was one step closer to snapping that defiant will of hers. And part of me still rages that she managed to hurt me the way she did, though I also know that something kept her from killing me when she had a chance. The hardened iron was there, pressed to my throat and it was well within her ability to drive it home, and yet she did not. A mistake on her part, because I also know that she will try to find me now. I've worked my way into her subconscious, and she won't know peace until she can end this. I'm counting on it._

_My other error, I realize now, was underestimating Cable's determination to find his missing partner. I treated him far too lightly, it seems. I won't make that mistake again. He's taken what is mine, and that is a grievance I cannot let slide. Still, he's a relatively small part of the big picture. The game is changing, and I anticipate a grand sport from them though I know that I'll win, in the end. There is not power in the world great enough to keep me from what I want._

---- 

The water streaming down off my body is red. Hair stiff with it thanks to the nice gash at the hairline. Every cut stings in time with the pelting water. The physical pain is preferable to the mental numbness and the exhaustion a welcome reprieve from the inner turmoil.   
Physical wounds are so much easier to treat than mental ones. Can't slap a Band-Aid on spider-webs of darkness that are just waiting to catch me off guard. I close my eyes and lean my head against the tile. 

And it's three hours ago.   
That door slams open and I'm free. Just like that. After a month and a half of dark and things I won't let myself recall, I'm free. 

Open and shut. 

But it's not, because that darkness follows me out, as things fall apart around me. As things go up in flames, as he gets away. So, as much as I'd like that _'happily ever after'_ crap, it doesn't work that way.   
It's cause and effect at its worst. One event spawns another, each with their own effect, spreading outward like a ripple in a pond. And however much I may try, things are never going to be the same, because even after that ripple passes, things continue to change. It will never be the same pond again. But I don't realize that right now, because he's getting away. 

Now it's upwards of two in the morning, with the TV blaring gibberish and me staring into a cold cup of coffee because it's pointless to disassemble and clean the gun that's on the table for the third time in half as many hours- even if it *does* make me look occupied. 

He walks in. I don't say anything, simply try to look more interested in the TV or the coffee...my hand twitches to pick up the gun and take it apart again. 

It's now been two weeks since Nate dragged my ass out of that hellhole. I can still feel those shackles cutting into my wrists, though the welts have faded, feel that damned collar... Two weeks since I tried to shake off his helping hands and go after the bastard, only to almost land on my face. 

Two weeks since he got away and two weeks since I've even acknowledged Nathan's presence. 

I feel a pang of guilt for that. None of this is Nathan's fault.   
None of it.   
Just one sick twist of fate, that's all. If I hadn't woken up early that morning, or if I'd wakened him... What Ifs are useless at this point in the game. What's happened can't be changed. But the future, what _will_ happen, can be. 

"I want to find him, Nate." 

"We'll find him." 

"There were other-" 

"I know." 

He's angry. Just as angry as I am. He takes what happened personally, though it had nothing to do with him at all. He doesn't offer any comforting platitudes. No "It will be all right"s or "It's all over now"s. Because it won't be, and it isn't. What's happened has long lasting repercussions for both of us, and he's not going to lie to me.   
Instead, he takes a seat next to me, managing to be reassuring by simple proximity. 

"Is it my turn for a nervous breakdown yet?" He asks conversationally. 

"Fat chance." My mouth quirks up in a wry smile, though there's no humor in my voice. Just dull weariness. "I'm not done yet." 

There's a wash of concern from his end of the link. It snapped back full strength, as if it'd never been interrupted. He'd mentioned some psionic interference, but at the time, I hadn't been listening.   
I glance over at him, and there's a mix of worry and pain that shows through in his eyes, if not in any other part of his expression. I know my own eyes must be haunted. I've had two weeks to try to sort this all out in my head, and I still feel hollow.   
Empty. 

I know he knows the awful truth, that I almost gave in. And I gave up on him. That there is still a lingering, irrational doubt in my mind I can't shake. 

He knows all of this, which is why he reaches out and takes my hand, his thumb caressing the back of my hand, a rare gesture for him. He can hear my silent plea. I can't do this alone, and I'm too stubborn to ever admit it. 

---- 

It's blackness and mind-numbing cold. It's every nasty little hellhole I've ever been held in. All those memories jumbled, overlapping shards of pain that cut deeper and deeper, bleeding me dry. I twist, fight, and it cuts deeper still. I find myself struggling through pain and the blood I feel pouring down my skin, reaching blindly through it all for a bright sliver of golden light as the darkness tries to drag me down with it's leaden weight.... 

We jolt awake in synchrony, my eyes wide, seeing only the dark, trying to breathe past the terror in my chest. I jerk away from the hand that touches my shoulder lightly. 

"Oath, Dom. It was a dream..."   
Nathan's groggy voice cuts through the disorientation and the murky room snaps into place before my eyes. My heart races and my skin is slick with sweat. I realize I'm shaking, badly. 

"Don't touch me!" I struggle to get away as he enfolds me in an almost crushing embrace, but he doesn't loosen his grip. He hangs on tight until I just go limp, still trembling. 

"Dom..." 

"Don't, Nate." I know what he's thinking, what he wants to say. I don't want to hear him talk about it though. I'm already too upset at my loss of control. I should never have reached out like that, unconsciously letting the dream...or at least the emotions from the dream, spill over the link like that, sharing my weakness. I want to get away from him, but I'm so cold now that the adrenaline rush has faded, and he's warm. I try to choke back the sob in my throat, making a strangled little noise. Damnit. I'm *not* going to cry. I take a deep, shuttering breath and twist around to face him.   
I wince at the expression on his face. It's not something I can't place exactly...pain, worry, a touch of the fear I inadvertently gave to him? The dream flashes before my eyes again, an image of blood and terror... Shit. 

"I'm sorry. You don't need all this crap, Nathan." God knows he's got enough baggage of his own to deal with. He doesn't need this piled on top of it. "Let go. You're hurting me," I growl. In truth, the two cracked ribs on my left side *have* started aching, but I just want him to let go. I can't stand the proximity at the moment, the feelings of dependence. 

He lets go, muttering under his breath. "...stubborn." 

"You should talk," I snap, jerking away. 

"I can help, Dom." 

"I don't need help. I can deal with this." I swallow hard. "I've done it before." I hear him sigh. He's probably frustrated as hell, I know I would be in his place. And I *have* been in his place, more times than I'd like to recall. 

"It's different this time." 

I whirl back to face him, my side screaming in protest now. "Yes, it is. This time I let the bastard get to me. Is that what you wanted to hear, Nathan? That I let him convince me that you didn't give a damn what had happened to me? Does that make you happy?" 

"No, It makes me want to blow his flonqing head off, Dom. And it makes me all the angrier at myself for not finding you sooner." 

I sigh and run a hand back through my hair, "Let's not do this now, Okay? It's almost five...I'm too damn tired to argue. 

There's a pause. "Okay." 

I lay back down, turning on my side away from him and yank the covers up to my chin. I feel him settle in beside me and not long after I drift off again, this time into a dead, exhausted sleep, dreamless and deep. 

---- 

The folder makes a dull slapping noise as it hits the table in front of me. I glance up, taking the sheaf of papers in hand. "What's this?" 

"Intelligence reports. Interpol, SHIELD, MI6...I figured if what you told me was true, there would have to be some record of it." 

I scan the files. Missing persons reports, criminal investigations... 

"There's a photo here." Nathan reaches across the table and plucks the folder out of my hands and thumbs through it, pulling the photo and handing it to me. I glance at it, then back at Cable. 

"It's him," I say, voice gone hard. 

---- 

Bronson Kersey. I turn the name over and over again in my mind, trying to attach it to his face, trying to make it all fit. The wind swirls sand in my eyes and I have to squint through the glare of the desert sun overheads to make out the shattered building squatting amidst the dunes. 

"Not too much overkill, Nate?" I ask wryly, staring at the gapping holes in the building's walls and the telltale scorch marks of fire. 

"Some sort of auto-destruct," he replies, striding through the sand to the shell of the building. I follow a few paces behind, reluctant to willingly re-enter Hell. "Military facility," he mumbles to himself, examining the structure and the wreckage. 

"His father is military. Maybe he pulled a few strings?" I get a perfunctory nod by way of a reply as he ducks into one of the dark rents in the wall. I can hear his feet stirring up sand and lose stone as he inspects the interior. Again I hesitate, hand resting on the edge of the hole in the concrete before I steel myself and plunge into the dark. 

Nothing. Nothing but sand, soot, and the shattered remnants of Bronson's little desert paradise. Nothing but ugly nightmares lurking in the gutted building. The corridors are almost unrecognizable now; the lavish decor striped by the fire that cleaned out the complex, immolating any useful information there may have been here. I concentrate on keeping this strictly professional, forcing away the memories this place manages to invoke despite its altered state.   
I stand and stare into the dark cell that was my home for the better part of six weeks, Pain and hate, and yes, a bit of fear seem to cling to the walls, reeking and contagious. Nathan's hand is on my shoulder, turning me away. His face softened a bit by concern, his eyes seeming to say 'I promise this won't happen again.' I realize how important he's become, lending me an unobtrusive support I need so badly, respectful of the space I need. He knows how to play this game, and I'm grateful for that. 

---- 

I hate it. The feeling that I've been chewed up and spit back out again. The dull ache that's not physical, but emotional. The waking nightmares that whisper and scream at the same time and make me wish to God I never had to open my eyes again. But I do, and the light leaking in through the drawn curtains makes the room dusky. I can see dust motes floating by and I remember where I am. _'Come to Egypt. See the wonders of the ages... meet all the resident psychopaths.'_ Things seem to always work in circles, always looping back on themselves. Only the details have changed. The universe has a perverse sense of humor.   
For a few moments, I ponder just lying here. Nate would go on to the meeting we have scheduled with an official from the local government by himself if I told him to. But lying here all day isn't going to solve anything. So I get up and get ready, all the while trying to detach myself from it all, compartmentalizing it the way I always do until I have a sturdy boundary between my own feelings and the rest of the world. Funny, it's not nearly as easy as it used to be.   
Nate is downstairs in the hotel's restaurant, drinking his coffee. I slip into the seat across from him quietly. 

"Feeling better?" 

I shrug. It's not a matter of how I feel about all of this. It's about doing what we came here to do. To end all of this. Maybe then I'll take the time to sort all of this shit out. 

---- 

It's warm in the outside cafe. Flocks of tourists line the streets, taking in the sights of the city. My eyes drift over the crowds as our contact, a dark skinned woman from a branch of the local government, discusses her department's duties in softly accented English. I wonder if Nate can feel how much I hate this place, wonder if he feels the same. It's not malice for the county itself- Egypt has some spectacular sights; it's the memories that go with it. I bite back my anger and frustration. It isn't right, but then, I _know_ life isn't fair. It never has been. I turn my attention back to the conversation. 

"Of course, we knew he was there," Sela says. "The government keeps track of all the military installations, even those officially under control by other authorities." She brushes her dark hair back behind her ear. "But we had explicit orders not to interfere with Kersey's operations." She scowls slightly. "Bureaucracy. I hated having to turn a blind eye to what he was doing, but my hands were tied. I can't tell you how relieved I am that he's gone." She shakes her head. "We had girls vanishing... they'd be found in the desert later. But I suppose you know about that. It frustrated me that I had people crying out for justice and I couldn't do a thing about it. I knew what he was doing out there, and I could not stop him." She pauses, then smiles warmly at us. "But I have faith that you will stop him." 

Faith. Someone once told me it was not a matter of gods, but rather of hope. I have to wonder if I have any faith left. 

We get back to the task at hand, Sela giving us all the information she can. It's not much, but it does give us a few leads. There are records here of Kersey's comings and goings from the desert complex. A medical report from a hospital here in the city where he was treated after an 'accident' that tore through his shoulder...my mouth quirks up in a slight smile and Sela gives me a curious look. 

"There were a few private flights out of the country that we have records of," She says, going back to her files. "To the United States, England, and Switzerland. But his base also had an airstrip and the records of those flights are classified, even to me." Despite her good-natured manner, there's a sharp steel edge behind her voice and her frustration at having things kept from her in her own department is obvious. "I wish there was more I could give you, but shortly after we spoke over the telephone," she says, turning to Nate, "several files went missing from my office. The more incriminating reports on Kersey's activities were stolen, along with a few other unrelated files, of course." 

"Of course," he replies, the obvious cover up not surprising him a bit. "I hope this meeting won't get you into trouble." 

She smiles. "I doubt it. My superiors have no real proof of anything, just as I have no real proof that they are cleaning up after Mr. Kersey. I'm sure we'll come to an... understanding on the issue." She stands, shakes our hands, and wades off into the city's crowds. 

---- 

Every step I take wounds Nathan more. He's watching me move further and further away from him, running with all my strength and slamming the doors shut as I go. One after another they reverberate in the empty space between us.   
He stands there, waiting. Hoping I'll feel him there and let him in, and sinks further into his own guilt as he sees less of the woman he's come to know me as, and more of the stoic soldier he met all those years ago. 

I couldn't count the number of times he's called on me for help over the years, whether for personal or professional reasons, and I always came. He's trying desperately to repay the debt he feels he owes me, and I don't have the words to tell him he's not the one I'm running from, it's the nightmares that grab me at a mere touch. I can't tell him that when I wake, thrashing to be free of his comforting arms, it's not him I'm lashing out at, it's the demons that have haunted me for as long as I can remember. Monsters spawned in Madripoor, in the endless year as Tolliver's prisoner, in a hundred other hellish places. It's ripping me apart and the logical part of my mind wants nothing more than to collapse against him and let him help me pull myself back together. But the rest of me is running on animal instinct, telling me to dive back into the dark protected corners of my mind and let the stone faced facade deal with the world. 

This confusion is in large part due to the fact that there's someone to actually _care._ Nathan has become an ingrained part of who I am, though how that managed to happen between us, the most emotionally distant people on the planet, I'll never know. Maybe just the undeniable need to reach out to a like mind, and no small amount of physical attraction doomed us to this strange little game we play.   
Dear God, Nathan, I just hope we can survive this thing. 

---- 

I take one last glance in the mirror; assured that I look nothing like myself. I've gotten good at disguises over the years. I smooth the skirt of my bland tan business suit, grab my bag from the bed, and exit the hotel room. Nathan is standing in the hallway, waiting. I've got an appointment to keep, though I somehow doubt Lieutenant General Jonathan Kersey us going to be cooperative in helping to track down his wayward son. 

"Anything?" Nathan asks, meeting me at the car after my talk with Kersey. 

"Nothing," I reply tersely. "Claims to have no idea where he is." 

"Not surprised," he replies sourly. 

"Neither am I. We're back to square one." 

"We have the information Sela gave us. It's better than nothing." 

"Not much," I mutter. "Like trying to find a needle in a fucking haystack." 

We keep looking anyway. Part of me wants to say 'to hell with this' and just let it go. It's not worth the torment I'm putting myself through. But a combination of stubborn will and anger keeps me from giving in. It doesn't matter how much it tears me up, I decide. Stopping Bronson will be worth it, if only to have the chance to look him in the eye one last time and prove that he didn't win. 

That he didn't... 

I haven't been broken.   


We manage to track his activities to Switzerland... an ideal place for a base, really. Nate would know. 

He's gone. He must have been tipped off somehow; he was here until very recently. We search the building cautiously, ready for any unpleasant surprises he may have left for us. What we find is a message, in the form of a body. 

Even in the darkness of the room, even with her head nearly severed by a vicious knife slash, Sela is easily recognizable. Her dark eyes stare upwards, sightless, as if searching for a reason why. I kneel down and close those questioning eyes, turning my face away, my own eyes squeezed tightly shut as I try to fight back the helpless rage and anguish rising in me. Nathan is standing in the doorway, grim and expressionless, locking his own emotions behind the stoic mask of a soldier. I swallow hard and stand, pushing past him back into the hallway. 

I hadn't thought this could become more personal. I was wrong.   


Fin   



End file.
